


The Spectacle of Fearsome Acts

by pentipus



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes beating the crap out of people, Caring, Gang AU, M/M, Sex, Slow Burn, Violence, mild drug use, non-heteronormative family unit, questionable parenting techniques
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-20 10:50:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pentipus/pseuds/pentipus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guys are in a gang and get up to all sorts of shenanigans. It's kinda like Oliver Twist, but in Brooklyn, and instead of Fagin you have Bucky Barnes.</p><p>
  <i>Steve watched as Bucky cleaned the cut on Peter’s leg, shoulder blades shifting under the black t-shirt he was wearing. Bucky knelt at Peter’s feet, needle and nylon thread in hand as Natasha wiped the wound clean with a bloodied cloth, her free hand stroking through Peter’s short hair. Bucky’s fingers fumbled with the needle for a moment and he smiled up at Peter apologetically. “You ok, buddy?” he asked, waiting for the go ahead from Peter.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Peter nodded. “Yeah, do it.” He grimaced when Bucky started to stitch the split skin together but didn’t make a sound. Barton stepped forward and held out a smoking joint to Peter, who took it with shaking fingers.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

They met after Steve bailed Peter out of a bad situation in the Sears on Beverly Road; a story that Bucky liked to remind Peter of whenever he was getting too sure of himself. At which point Peter would normally roll his eyes and try to push Bucky off balance if he was near enough.

Steve had stood and watched the young boy rushing to the entrance of the store, had watched the stout security guard follow him to the door, his big hand closing over the boy’s shoulder before he could escape.

 “You wanna tell me what you got in your bag, son?” Steve heard the guard say quietly, his eyes narrowed.

The kid tried to pull away, his expression flitting somewhere between fear and anger. “Dude-”

Steve’s feet had carried him forward before he fully registered what he was doing, watching the kid try to pull away from the guard’s grip. “Danny!” Steve yelled as he walked towards the pair. “What are you doing? We said we’d pay together.”

The boy stared at him and the guard furrowed his brow. “You with this kid?”

“Yeah, I am. Danny, come on, we don’t have all day. Gimme your stuff so I can pay.”

The guard glared at Steve as the boy stepped forward and fumbled with his backpack, sliding a boxed pair of Converse trainers out of the bag and handing them to Steve. “Yeah,” he said, unsure. “Sorry, I forgot.”

“You just forgot you had to pay and put it straight in your bag, huh?” the guard said, glaring between them.

“Yeah, man, what’re you playing at?” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, we only have like twenty minutes before we have to be back.”

Steve paid for the shoes and they left the store together, eyes forward. They walked slowly down Beverly Road for a few blocks, before turning into New York Avenue. They walked until they reached a rundown looking day care, black sign grubby over the shop front.

“This is me,” the kid said finally, eyes slanted sideways. “I have to go.”

“What’s your name?” Steve asked. The boy was silent but Steve persisted. “How come you ain’t at school?”

“School’s out for the day.”

“Where are your folks?”

“Out of town.”

“Uh huh. You staying here on your own in this building?” Steve said, inclining his head towards the grubby apartments above the day care.

“Hey man, I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“You owe me sixty bucks, _man_ , you can tell me something.”

Peter opened his mouth to retaliate but was interrupted when a voice from above called, “Peter, what’s up? Who’s this?”

Steve looked up to see a man leaning out of the first-floor window, arms folded on the windowsill. “You this kid’s family?” Steve called before Peter could say anything.

The man at the window appeared to draw himself up. “Yeah, he’s my boy.”

“You his dad?”

“No, I’m his guardian. Who the hell are you?”

“My name’s Steve.”

“Great, good for you. Is there a problem here or what?” The man stared down angrily, dark hair falling forward, hands now spread on the edge of the windowsill as though he were preparing to take a leap at Steve.

“Kind of yeah.” Steve pulled the shoe box out of his bag and held it out. He looked down at Peter and said, “You wanna say or should I?”

The man’s face slipped into something that looked like exasperation, and he raised his eyebrows, unamused, in the boy’s direction.

“Bucky-” the boy started, but the man held up his hands, one pink palm in the sunlight and one black.

“Get inside, Peter, now. I’ll talk to you in a minute.” The boy looked down at his feet and stepped around Steve, slipping a key from his pocket and unlocking the barred door.

Steve almost laughed as he looked back up to the open window above. “Not the first time, huh?”

The man rolled his eyes. “Come up, yeah? I’ll get you sorted.”

Steve grimaced slightly, unsure of how smart it was to wander into a stranger’s home, especially one whom he had just caught stealing. He looked up at the window as the man disappeared inside before stepping through the door that the kid was holding open for him, his red sneaker wedged in against the metal kick plate.

The first-floor apartment was large and bare, a long grey sofa and a couple of armchairs filled the space between the kitchen counter and the TV, and beyond, a thin corridor and a number of closed doors. Another kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen, sat on the sofa and stared warily at Steve as he followed Peter into the apartment, who quickly dumped his bag and threw himself into one of the armchairs, arms crossed grumpily in front of him.

“Steve, right?” the man from the window said, walking forwards and holding out a hand. “I’m Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said, shaking Bucky’s hand with something that he hoped was a sympathetic smile.

Bucky took a deep breath and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, looking at Steve with his head cocked to one side. “You helped him out?”

Steve shrugged. “It seemed the right thing to do.”

“Where was it?”

“Sears.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and called across the room to the boy, “Sears!? Peter, seriously, Sears?”

 “Listen, it’s no big deal, I can return the shoes,” Steve shrugged again, the boxed shoes still in his hand. Then he smiled and added, “But if he’s gonna do it, he should at least learn to do it right.”

Bucky smiled and shook his head, and with a sigh said, “Hey Peter, come over here.” The boy slumped over, shoulders rounded. “What d’you say, Peter?”

The boy pushed his jaw out and looked away from Bucky. “Sorry,” he said sullenly, staring back at the TV.

Bucky raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. “No, what d’you say to Steve here?”

Peter looked up, jaw set. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Peter.” Bucky fisted his hand in the front of Peter’s red hoodie. Not exactly rough but rough enough to pull him back when he tried to move away. “You find your manners or you find the fucking door, you understand?”

Peter looked up at Bucky, his eyes hard for a moment, and then giving in. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’ta  done what I did, it was stupid.” He looked up at Steve as Bucky let him go. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Bucky lifted his chin and said nothing when Peter slouched away, his hands deep in his pockets. “I appreciate what you did, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was genuine, his eyes wide and earnest. “Pete’s had a real tough time, and you cut him some slack, that takes guts y’know?”

Steve shrugged. “I know what it’s like.”

“You from Brooklyn?”

“I was, but I moved to Washington with my folks when I was a kid. I came back for school.”

“You a student?”

“Yeah, at Medgar Evers.”

“So you-” Bucky cut himself off, clearly rethinking his question before he continued, “Your family must be ok for money then?”

Steve snorted. “Nothing like that. I guess debt is gonna look good on me.”

“You work?”

“Yeah, I work at _Brother’s Deli_ down on Bedford Avenue.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know the one. You earn good money there?”

Steve laughed again. “Like I said, I know what it’s like to have a tough time.”

“You know,” Bucky said, tilting his head to survey Steve. “If you wanted, I could help you out. You did a good thing today, so if I can repay you I will. If Pete had been taken in it would have been real bad for him; no next of kin, underage, criminal record.” Bucky clicked his teeth, his white incisor showing at the corner of his mouth. “We look after each other, we’re a family.”

Steve tried to act nonchalant as he smiled and said, “I ain’t no criminal.”

“Well that’s good, because I don’t need a criminal,” Bucky said with a smile, taking his gloved hand out of his pocket and clapping Steve on the shoulder. “I just need a little muscle.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve stared out across the rooftops of Brooklyn with a swiftly warming beer in his hand, watching black birds soar against the pink dusk sky. He sat back in the deckchair he had found in a skip beside _Brother’s Deli_ , the one he had patched up with masking tape and carried up to the roof of his building for sticky hot sunsets just like this one. He raised the bottle of beer to his lips as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, his mobile phone light up on the gravel next to him. The name flashed on the screen in block capitals: _FAGIN_

He watched the phone blink a few times before reaching for it. “Hello?” he answered.

“Hey, Steve. It’s Bucky, you remember? From the other day, above the day care centre-”

“Yeah, I remember.”

There was a pause. “So I wondered if you wanted to make some money this evening.”

Steve snorted. “Sounds ominous.”

“Nothing like that, I promise. I just need a little backup, just need a big guy to look mean. You don’t gotta _be_ mean.”

“Maybe next time-”

“There’s two hundred bucks in it for you.” Another Pause. “And I swear there’ll be no funny business, I literally just need you to stand behind me and look menacing.”

“I don’t think my face lends itself to ‘menacing’.”

There was a laugh at the other end of the phone. “You’d be surprised.”

 

Steve met Bucky behind a Kosher wine and whiskey store on East 4th Street; he appeared to be alone but gestured vaguely with one hand and said, “Barton’s around,” when Steve asked.

“Barton?” Steve said, falling into step beside Bucky as they made their way down the street in the gathering dark.

“He’s a friend.”

Steve nodded, feeling slightly concerned. “So what’s this all about then?” he asked.

Bucky shrugged. “I need to borrow some money.”

“What?”

“I need to borrow some money, but I wanna make a show of force, y’know? I don’t wanna go in there on my own, and I couldn’t take one of the guys. I needed someone that looked mean.”

“You think I look mean?”

Bucky looked Steve up and down. “You’ll do.”

Steve raised his eyebrows as Bucky pointed at a partially-shuttered laundromat. “This is the place,” he said. “When we go in I’ll be taken through to the back, ok? All you gotta do is stay out the front and look big.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I get it.”

Bucky pushed the door and a tinny bell rang over their heads. They walked through the rows of grey washers, the tall driers stacked against the back wall, towards a melamine counter at the back, where an elderly lady was sitting with her eyes narrowed.

“We’re here to see Lee,” Bucky said gruffly as he approached the counter.

She pursed her lips and looked him up and down before stepping awkwardly down from her stool and walking through to the back; a moment later she reappeared and nodded towards the door. Bucky shot a glance at Steve who squared his shoulders, watching Bucky disappear through the doorway.

Was he meant to intimidate this little old lady? He didn’t really think this was worth two hundred bucks, no matter how behind with his rent he was.

The old lady struggled as she sat back up on the stool, a great huff of air escaping her lips. As she sat down the chair wobbled, and as she reached to clutch at the chair her glasses fell to the ground.

Steve darted forward. “I’ll get those.” He leant down and picked the glasses up, checking them quickly before handing them back to the woman with a smile.

“Thank you,” she said, watching him. “I don’t recognise you.”

Steve raised his eyebrows. “Er, no, I don’t think I’ve ever been in here.”

“You a local boy?”

“I am yeah, but more the other side of town, near Medgar Evers.”

“The college?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m a student there.”

“Hm.” She continued to watch Steve, who felt himself grow slightly hot high up on his cheeks. “You keepin’ out of trouble that side of town?”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “I certainly try to, ma’am.”

Her mouth drew up into a slow, soft smile. “You might wanna try and stay out of trouble this side of town too.”

Steve nodded. “I will.”

Bucky emerged from the door out to the back and nodded at the old woman, his face stern. She straightened her back as she watched him, her eyes still and focussed as Steve gave her an awkward wave as they left.

“So,” Bucky said as they got outside, taking a tattered baseball cap from his jacket pocket and pulling it down over his eyes. “Did you speak to her?”

“To who?”

“Dotty, the old woman.”

“Er, yeah, briefly. Was I not meant to?”

 Bucky grinned. “Nah, you did great, man.”

“So how about my two hundred bucks, huh?”

Bucky nodded. “When the money comes through.”

“ _My_ payment is reliant on the job that we just did? That seems counterproductive.”

“It’ll come through.”

“You think.”

“I _know_.” Bucky glanced up at Steve as they walked into the circle of light cast by a streetlamp, his crooked grin making Steve smile back despite himself. “It’ll come through.”

 

Two days later Steve got a call: _FAGIN_ in block capitals.

“Yeah?”

“Money came through. You wanna come collect your two bucks?”

“There’d better be more than that.”

“Come on over, man, we’re getting pizza.”

 

When Steve arrived at Bucky’s apartment he found that it was packed with people, all of whom were introduced by Bucky with a grin, genuine and wide:

“This is Sam, he goes to college over in Queens. This is Natasha, she works in The Pavilion near Prospect Park, you know the one? This is Barton, he lives here with us, with Pete and Wade and me.”

Steve nodded at them each in turn, muttering awkward hellos as he did. Peter gave him a shy nod before turning back to the TV, where he and the other younger kid, Wade, were playing computer games.

Bucky reached for one of the pizza boxes that littered the small kitchen counter, taking a slice and holding it out towards Steve as he said, “So, she put in a good word for us.”

“She?”

“Dotty.”

“I don’t get it.”

Barton rolled his eyes, huffing around the mouth full of pizza. “Dotty’s the money lender, Bucky needed someone to butter her up. He couldn't take any of us, she knows we ain't no good, but you’re this wholesome student guy-”

“I didn’t-”

“What did you talk about?”

Steve shrugged, confused. “I dunno, I picked up her glasses when she dropped them and ask asked me if I was local. She asked me where I went to school.”

The room erupted into laughter.

“Aw, Stevie, you’re so sweet,” Natasha said, laughing with the others, her eyes warm as she chuckled.

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it, then pointed at Bucky. “You said you needed someone to look menacing.” The room howled. “You wanted to make a show of force.”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “Hey, I knew you were a nice guy, I knew it’d work.”

“You are a piece of work.”

Bucky reached into his back pocket and pulled out a fat envelope, he slapped it into one of Steve’s hands and then slapped the pizza slice in the other. “Your well-deserved reward.”

Steve sucked his teeth and grinned back, taking a bite of the pizza.

 

“You smoke?” Bucky asked later as they sat at the kitchen counter, a joint between the fingers of his black-gloved hand, the fat cherry glowing red.

Steve nodded towards Peter and Wade, who were still sat in front of the TV. “You smoke with these kids in here?”

“They ain’t kids, buddy,” Bucky said. “They’re more than mature enough to make their own decisions.”

Steve looked across to where Wade and Peter were sat on the sofa, chatting idly as they played computer games. He supposed Bucky was at least half right. He turned back as Bucky held out the joint, a question in his eyes. “Maybe they’d make better decisions in the absence of bad influences,” he said, but took the joint anyway.

Bucky leant forward as Steve took a drag, looking up at him as he said, “Like I said, they make their own decisions.” Steve blew out the smoke and tried to ignore the way it tasted, rank and dense. He took one more drag before handing the joint back to Bucky, who took it and called, “Guys, wanna smoke?”

Neither Wade nor Peter took their eyes from the TV, controllers in hands. “Maybe later,” Wade said as Peter shook his head.

Bucky looked at Steve with a grin, his eyes closing slow like a cat as he took another long drag on the joint.

“Real cute,” Steve said with a huff.

“My parents tried to control everything I did and it didn’t do me any good. You can’t control them,” Bucky said seriously. “We’re a family, but I ain’t their dad.”

“All of you together, right?” Steve said, looking across to where Natasha and Barton were chatting by the window, beers in hands, then at Peter and Wade, laughing together on the sofa.

Bucky smiled. “Right. All of us together.” He paused, looking sideways at Steve. “So, what’s your deal? You live with your folks?”

Steve grimaced. “No, they passed away a few years ago. I live with a guy I know from college.” Steve had intended on stopping there, but Bucky’s face was open and curious, and the weed had loosened his tongue, had made his chest feel heavy and comfortable. “He’s a nice guy,” Steve continued, “but he’s a bit of a drinker. He goes nuts every couple of weeks and ends up running around in his pants, throwing bricks through windows. He’s been arrested like seven times this year so far.”

Bucky nodded. “Sounds destructive.”

“Yeah, right.”

Bucky was silent then and they passed the joint back and forth between them, the smoke hanging in the air around them, sweet and heavy.

“Y’know,” Bucky said eventually. “Sam moved out a couple of weeks back, we’re looking for someone to pay his share of the rent. I’m willing to bet it’d be cheaper than the place you’re at now.”

Steve snorted and looked blearily at Bucky. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know a good guy when I meet one.” Bucky bumped his shoulder against Steve’s and smiled slowly, his eyes bright under his dark hair. “The offer’s there, buddy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bucky-”
> 
> “It’s alright,” Bucky said. “It’s ok.”
> 
> Steve nodded but he felt strangely ashamed, as though he’d missed a crucial moment, failed a crucial test. They walked home in silence, and Steve tried not to dwell on the beast behind Bucky’s kind eyes or the hot blood on his fists.

Steve met with Bucky five more times over the next month; accompanying him to buy a black van, standing silently at his side at a meeting with some English men in a dingy room above a bar, sitting with Barton on the low roof of a 7-Eleven, watching Bucky waiting on a street corner for some black-hoodied men, hands tucked deep into their pockets. Each time Bucky would drag Steve back to the apartment for food; pizza and burgers, Chinese take-out and bowls of homemade borsche courtesy of Natasha.

After the first month Steve started to call Bucky whenever his roommate was having an episode; they would walk the dark streets of Brooklyn together, safe in each other’s company. Steve learned that Peter had lost his parents in an accident, then lost his aunt and uncle in a botched robbery, before he found his way to Bucky. He learned that Wade had run away from an abusive household, and that Sam was a military man turned anarchist. He also learned that Natasha and Barton were not to be messed with, although Bucky was always vague about the reasons why. Steve learned that Bucky had lost an arm in an accident when he was a kid, and that he had a metal prosthetic that he took off each night, scratching at the red raw skin of what was left of his bicep.

Steve found that Bucky was kind, and could be gentle when he wanted to be. He laughed easily, touching his fingers to shoulders and elbows, nudging with his knees and ruffling hair. He pulled Peter into a hug almost every time he passed by, throwing an arm around Wade’s shoulders whenever they were close. He slipped his cold fingers into Steve’s hand one evening as they walked through the park, glancing prettily up at him as he joked about finding Steve a nice girl. Steve let himself be held, wondering if Bucky could feel anything through the prosthetic.

At the end of August Steve’s roommate was arrested for indecent exposure, vandalism, and battery. Steve packed his things into a backpack and a blue gym bag and left the dark apartment for Bucky’s place on New York Avenue.

Steve hesitated before ringing the bell, standing under the shabby sign for the day care centre. When he pressed the buzzer he heard the window open above him and when he looked up he saw Peter’s head for a moment, before he called, “It’s Steve!” and the door buzzed, clicking open under his palm.

Bucky looked Steve up and down when he pushed open the apartment door, taking in the bags, Steve’s sheepish expression. “So, what’s up?” Bucky asked.

Steve put his bags on the floor by the door and shrugged off his jacket. “You still got a room going?”

Bucky smiled. “Yeah, we still got a room going.” He walked to Steve and pulled him roughly into a hug, one warm hand in the middle of his back, one cold one against the back of his neck. “Glad you changed your mind.”

Steve tucked his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck for a moment, his arms around Bucky’s waist, then pulled away. “Alright, alright, alright,” he said, smiling. “Come on now.”

 

Steve’s room was the smallest in the apartment, tucked away behind the bathroom at the end of the corridor that ran off the living room. He thought that most nights Peter seemed to bunk in with Wade, and wondered why he couldn’t just take Peter’s bigger room.

He went to school and carried on working on Bedford Avenue for the first few weeks, at least until Bucky came home laughing one day, dumping a black bag of cash on the kitchen counter.

“Well, we’re set for a little while,” he said with a grin.

Steve looked down at the bag of ten dollar bills and back up at Bucky, who caught his eye and shrugged. _It’s one of those things we don’t talk about, Steve_. Like Natasha, like Barton, like the accident that cost Bucky his arm.

Steve stopped working in the deli after that; Bucky always seemed to have work for him and the pay was good. Most of the time Steve just sort of lurked around in the background, watching Bucky, watching the people Bucky met, watching the people around them. He found that he _could_ look menacing when he needed to, when Bucky wanted him to. He found that it was easy to do the things that Bucky asked him to do, that he _wanted_ to do the things Bucky asked of him. Steve found that he wanted to please Bucky, or impress him, or perhaps something else entirely.

 

The first time they got into trouble was just before Halloween. Steve and Bucky had turned up at the downtown apartment of Barton’s dealer to find two men with two guns waiting for them, their smug faces lighting up as Bucky reluctantly started counting out his money, a gun pointed unwavering at his chest.

Steve had never been held at gunpoint, and he felt himself freeze on the spot, his mouth clamped shut. He watched Bucky counting out his bills with his good hand, and he watched the muscle twitch in his jaw.

“Where’s Tony?” Bucky said, looking up at the men.

“Arrested,” one of the men replied and the other man laughed, his mouth a black hole under the rough beard that obscured his lips.

“You got his contacts, huh?” Bucky almost smiled, bending the wad of bills in his hand and stretching out to hand it over.

As the first man reached out to take the money Bucky’s good arm darted forward and pulled the man in by his wrist, making him stumble forward into Bucky’s chest. He brought his metal hand down against the crown of the man’s head with a clunk, just as the bearded man fired a round from his gun, the bullet hissing passed Steve’s ear and burying itself in the drywall behind his head.

“Fuck!” Steve shouted, throwing his hands over his head and hitting the floor. He craned his neck up just as Bucky landed a kick to the side of the second man’s head, propelled forward over the body of his partner.

The man staggered sideways, then swung his gun up again to take another shot, but Bucky was too quick, his metal hand crashing into the man’s face. Blood peppered Bucky’s chin and mouth as he swung for him again, his metal fist a blur in the dim light.

Steve stumbled to his feet as Bucky hunched over the bearded man, his fist pounding into the side of the man’s face.

“Bucky, Jesus, Buck,” Steve stumbled forward and dug his fingers into the meat of Bucky’s shoulder, pulling him back. “Stop, Bucky, you’re gonna kill him.”

Bucky leaned back, his chest heaving. His eyes were dark as he looked up at Steve, blood already drying on his face, and Steve felt himself take a step back, reeling.

“You’re right, you’re right,” Bucky said. “Let me wash real quick.”

Bucky washed his face and hands in the kitchen sink, then went back to retrieve the money he had dropped and the guns belonging to the two men. Together they checked the limp bodies for ID, but they were both clean, and, Steve thought thankfully, both alive.

They walked slowly away from the apartment, chatting as if nothing had happened. They walked a three-mile loop around Brooklyn in the dark before Bucky said it was safe to head home, his hand steady on the top of Steve’s arm.

“Bucky-”

“It’s alright,” Bucky said. “It’s ok.”

Steve nodded but he felt strangely ashamed, as though he’d missed a crucial moment, failed a crucial test. They walked home in silence, and Steve tried not to dwell on the beast behind Bucky’s kind eyes or the hot blood on his fists.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What?” Bucky asked. “What is it that you want, Steve?”
> 
> Steve looked at the negative space of Bucky’s body, wrapped in black against the black sea and the black sky. He thought of Bucky’s kind smile and of the devil behind his eyes, and he wanted, god, yeah, he wanted.
> 
> Steve stared back, unblinking, and said finally, “Well, I want a family, don’t I.”
> 
> There was a beat, a silent aching moment where the sea hushed against the sand and Steve’s heart hammered in his throat, until Bucky stepped forward and clapped his good hand against Steve’s shoulder. He smiled, slipping his cold palm up against the side of Steve’s neck and pulling him forward, bumping their foreheads together.
> 
> “Sentimental jackass,” he said with a huff before pulling away.

Steve found it difficult to sleep after the incident downtown. He jumped when he was alone and at night he would hold his breath whenever he heard a noise, straining for the sounds of armed men breaking into the apartment. His blood beat in his ears and his dreams were almost always bad.

One night he heard a clunk and a crash from outside his room and his chest pulled tight, as though he’d been struck there. He paused for a second and then jumped out of bed as quietly as he could, reaching for the baseball bat he now kept propped up against his desk, before stepping towards the closed door on bare feet. He swung the door open, the baseball bat held level with his head, to find Bucky reaching down to pick up his prosthetic, the metal fingers curled into a loose fist against the wooden floor.

“Jesus, Bucky, you scared the crap outta me,” Steve said, leaning back against the door jamb.

Bucky huffed out a laugh as he straightened up. “Still jumpy, huh?”

Steve shrugged and looked down at the bat in his hands, picking at a loose splinter of wood on the scuffed barrel. “I can’t seem to shake it.”

“It’s normal,” Bucky said with a small smile. “You shouldn’t have had to see all that.”

“You do that a lot?” Steve asked even though he knew he shouldn’t, even though he knew there were some parts of living here with Bucky’s family that don’t get talked about, that there were some things that should be left unsaid.

Bucky sighed. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“Uh huh.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “We should go for a walk if we’re gonna talk about this, these walls are thin.”

Steve considered saying no, that he had school in the morning, but there was a challenge in Bucky’s eyes and his words had sounded like an order, so instead Steve nodded and said, “Ok.”

 

They walked all the way down to Brighton Beach, their hands in their pockets and their breath in white clouds around them. Steve tried not to look at Bucky as he spoke, worried that he would see some dark thing behind his eyes again.

“I try to keep the kids out of it as much as possible,” Bucky said as they walked. “Pete and Wade have been through enough already, I want to keep them safe, y’know?”

Steve nodded but Bucky wasn’t looking at him, so he said, “Right, of course.”

“And Sam has his own shit going on. He can look after himself, he doesn’t need me to worry about him,” Bucky continued as they turned onto the promenade, the dark water of the Bay brushing against the grey sand to their right.

“And Barton? Nat?” Steve asked, and then, after a moment, “You?”

Bucky paused before he gently veered off of the tarmac, stepping down onto the beach as Steve followed him. “It is what it is,” Bucky said, frustratingly cryptic.

“And what is _it_?” Steve asked as his old trainers started to fill with cold sand.

“You know what it is, Steve,” Bucky said with a sigh. “You really want me to spell it out.”

“Yeah, I do. I’m in this now and I wanna know what I’ve got myself into.” Steve stopped walking, his feet in two dark divots in the sand. He waited until Bucky stopped too and then trudged towards him. “You can trust me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he looked up at Steve, huffing out a cold breath. “Yeah, I trust you, Steve, but you know you ain’t contractually obliged to be here, you can leave any time you want.”

“I don’t wanna,” Steve stuttered quickly. “I wanna-”

“What?” Bucky asked. “What is it that you want, Steve?”

Steve looked at the negative space of Bucky’s body, wrapped in black against the black sea and the black sky. He thought of Bucky’s kind smile and of the devil behind his eyes, and he wanted, god, yeah, he wanted.

Steve stared back, unblinking, and said finally, “Well, I want a family, don’t I.”

There was a beat, a silent aching moment where the sea hushed against the sand and Steve’s heart hammered in his throat, until Bucky stepped forward and clapped his good hand against Steve’s shoulder. He smiled, slipping his cold palm up against the side of Steve’s neck and pulling him forward, bumping their foreheads together.

“Sentimental jackass,” he said with a huff before pulling away. “You want this family?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s as good a one as any, I guess.”

Bucky shook his head, smiling. “You wanna be in this?” he said, suddenly serious. “Properly, I mean. You wanna be a part of this?”

“Whatever you need, Buck,” Steve said, wondering if he was going blind; Glaucoma eating away at him without him even realising. “I’m here whatever.”

 

They walked home as the sky to the east turned pale gold between the tenements, the stars blinking out one by one above them. They stopped so that Steve could take off his shoes and tap the sand from them, turning his socks inside out and shaking them in the cold air with a grimace.

Bucky told Steve that the two men that had met them at Tony’s place were cops. He said that Natasha had been able to confirm this through a contact of hers at the 78th Precinct on 6th Avenue, where Tony had been taken following his arrest. Natasha had said that two cops matching the descriptions of the men Bucky had almost beaten to death had been seen roughing Tony up and had taken his belongings, including his mobile phone, presumably in the hopes of getting a bit of off-the-books cash on the side.

“The thing is, they _know_ we can’t go back to the cops and report them, cus we’re doing something illegal in the first place.” Bucky shook his head. “They’re fucking dirty, is what they are, dirty fucking cops.”

“And now they know us,” Steve said, glancing sidelong at Bucky.

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, now they know us.”

“What are we gonna do?”

“We’re gonna keep our heads down and see what’s up,” Bucky said as they stopped outside of the day care under the dazzling dawn sky, now so blue it was almost white. “Nat’s on it, she’s gonna find out who these guys are and then-”

“'And then' what?” Steve asked.

Bucky looked up at the dark windows of the apartment, his brows furrowed, before he looked back at Steve. “Then we do what we gotta do,” he said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Christmas Day they all bundled into Bucky’s black van and drove the two hours out of town to Mastic Beach, where they walked along the narrow dunes, huddled against the wind. They walked across the bridge to Smith Point and had lunch in a seafood place that sat long and low against the dreary sky.
> 
> It was the greyest and coldest Christmas Day Steve had ever known, but when he tried he found that he couldn’t think of a happier one. He plodded along the beach between the stoic pillars of Bucky and Sam, listening to Peter shout against the wind every time Wade snuck his cold fingers under the hem of his sweater, watching Natasha and Barton chasing the grey waves, the white foam catching on the tips of their shoes.

Steve found that even when they were keeping their heads down, family life wasn’t trouble free; Peter often came home with a cut on his cheek or a black eye, waving off Bucky’s stern questions in favour of huddling with Wade on the sofa. Steve had seen him, a week into the definite cold of December, fighting with a group of boys near the east end of Prospect Park. Steve watched him hit one boy in the mouth, before twisting to elbow another in the chin. He pushed the biggest boy away with his palms flat against the boy’s chest and the group fell back.

“Why were you fighting those kids?” Steve had asked him later that evening, drying the dishes as Peter washed.

Peter looked at him with narrowed eyes. “That wasn’t a fight,” he said, turning back to the dishes. “They were picking on someone. I don’t like bullies like that.”

Wade, on the other hand, had a smart mouth and often got both of them in trouble. More than once Steve and Bucky had had to drag them bodily from fights with kids from the other side of town, sprinting down alleys away from the sirens in the distance, Bucky knocking their heads together when they stopped to catch their breath.

“Damn idiots,” he’d mumble, clapping Steve on the back, his unspoken ‘thank you’.

Kindness was a sport and Bucky played it well, but it was impossible to hide the violence that lurked under the surface of his warm eyes and his crooked grin. Bucky enjoyed feeling dangerous, and Steve knew that when they were together Bucky felt invincible; the sheer mass of Steve’s body like a monolith of stone, an unmoveable Komainu at his side.

Steve found himself hovering in Bucky’s orbit whenever he had the chance, hoping for Bucky’s warm hand on his shoulder, Bucky’s knee nudging his own. One time Bucky pressed his prosthetic hand to Steve’s cheek so that he could feel how cold it was, and Steve had nodded, yeah, it’s real cold, Buck, and tried to ignore the hard beat of his heart beneath his ribs.

 

On Christmas Day they all bundled into Bucky’s black van and drove the two hours out of town to Mastic Beach, where they walked along the narrow dunes, huddled against the wind. They walked across the bridge to Smith Point and had lunch in a seafood place that sat long and low against the dreary sky.

It was the greyest and coldest Christmas Day Steve had ever known, but when he tried he found that he couldn’t think of a happier one. He plodded along the beach between the stoic pillars of Bucky and Sam, listening to Peter shout against the wind every time Wade snuck his cold fingers under the hem of his sweater, watching Natasha and Barton chasing the grey waves, the white foam catching on the tips of their shoes.

“I could live out here very easily,” Sam said, breathing in the salty air. “Get a little place up on stilts, one-up, one-down. Very nice,” he concluded.

“Nah,” Bucky said. “It’s nice to visit but I couldn’t leave the city. I’d go crazy with the silence out here.”

Steve nodded. “When I moved out to Washington with my folks we lived in the suburbs and that was bad enough, I couldn’t wait to get back to Brooklyn.”

“The city’s alive, the suburbs is where you go to die,” Bucky said.

“Little dramatic, don’t you think?” Sam said with a smile, leaning forward to look at Bucky around Steve.

Bucky shrugged. “Once you get out here you’re already dead.”

“I’m cool with that,” Sam said. “I’m happy to die out here in the quiet.”

“We’ll come visit you, lay some flowers on your porch.” Bucky crossed himself, touching his fingers to his forehead, his shoulders, the middle of his chest. “Do all this, y’know.”

“I appreciate that,” Sam said sarcastically. “Although I’ll probably outlive you up there in the city, especially with those cops after you.”

Steve sucked in a sudden breath, eyes darting to Sam and then to Bucky. But Bucky just laughed, pushing his mouth against the cold zip of his jacket, huffing a hot breath inside the collar. “I’ll take it,” Bucky said, his voice muffled by the fabric of his jacket. “I’ll take that.”

 

On New Year’s Eve they threw a party in the apartment, which they covered in red streamers and balloons. Bucky bought a chocolate cake with white icing, and he paid extra to have a printed picture of Natasha placed on the top, an unflattering one that Barton had taken one morning. She punched Bucky in his good arm when she saw it, but went back for seconds all the same.

Wade drank too much and kissed Peter repeatedly on the cheek, telling everyone that they were getting married in the morning, that he was gonna make an honest man of him. When it got late Peter caught Wade by the collar of his t-shirt and kissed him properly, tucked into the corner of the kitchen, before they disappeared into Wade’s bedroom for an hour before the countdown.

“He better make an honest man of him,” Sam said as he took a sip of his seventh beer, his eyes blinking slowly out of sync with one another. “Our little Pete.”

Bucky grinned and shook his head. “You’re drunk, man.”

“I’m a finely tuned athletic specimen,” Sam said, kicking out a foot and missing Bucky’s shin. “Alcohol doesn’t affect you as much cus of all this.” He tapped his beer bottle against Bucky’s stomach. “I’m like, ninety-three percent muscle so-”

Bucky laughed. “ _Steve’s_ ninety-three percent muscle, you’re ninety-three percent carbs.”

“It’s called _carb loading_ , it’s a thing,” Sam said.

“I appreciate that you think I’m ninety-three percent muscle,” Steve said, raising his own bottle of beer in a salute across the kitchen.

Bucky turned and smiled, his hair pulled back into a tight bun, his eyes bright. “The other seven percent is the bubble butt.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Steve said with a grin, keeping his eyes on Bucky even after he had turned back to speak to Sam.

After the countdown they did shots and downed their beers, singing along to the cheesy songs that Wade picked out for them, having emerged grinning from his room half an hour earlier, pulling Peter along by the hand. They disappeared again an hour later, arms around each other’s shoulders.

“I love you guys,” Wade shouted tipsily from the hallway. “I love you guys.”

Natasha ended up slow dancing with Barton to a Kid Cudi song, her face pressed against his shoulder, before they too disappeared off down the corridor to the bedrooms.

“Right, well,” Sam said blearily, heaving himself up from where he had been sat between Steve and Bucky on the sofa. “I’m gonna get out of here.”

Bucky held out his hand, trying to catch hold of Sam’s wrist as he stood. “No, no, sleep on the sofa!”

“Nah, it’s cool, I need a proper night’s sleep.” He grinned. “Give you kids some space.”

Steve laughed, waving him away. “Thanks, man.”

Sam threw his leather jacket over his shoulders and saluted the two of them as he left the apartment, fingers to his temple with a smile.

Bucky let his head fall to the side, staring at the side of Steve’s head. He reached across the space between them, fingers curled in a fist as he tapped his knuckles against Steve’s thigh. “Steve, what you wanna do?”

“Huh?” Steve’s eyes dropped to the place where Bucky was still touching him, then lifted slowly to Bucky’s eyes. “Huh?” he said again.

“Film or what?” Bucky said. “My room’s next to Clint’s and yours is next to Wade’s, so I’m guessing we should kill some time unless we wanna be scarred for life.”

Steve nodded. “Right, yeah. Well, whatever. Whatever you like.”

Bucky’s fingers flexed against Steve’s leg. “What do you like, Steve?”

Steve swallowed and the noise seemed unnaturally loud. Bucky smiled slowly, tipsy but not drunk, and said again, “What do you like, Stevie?”

“Whatever you like, Buck,” Steve managed at last, his heart hammering in his throat.

Bucky nodded and pulled his hand away, leaving Steve’s leg feeling suddenly cold.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I got you something,” Bucky said as they neared Maspeth, the grey industrial buildings sat low on the horizon like a partially completed city skyline. Bucky reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of brass knuckles, holding them out for Steve to take. “Just in case you need a bit of help,” he added.  
> Steve held out his hand and took the silvery brass knuckles from Bucky with a disbelieving chuckle. “Thanks, I guess.”  
> “You’re welcome,” Bucky said with a smile as Steve slipped the brass knuckles into his own pocket without another word.

Three weeks into the New Year Natasha walked into the apartment with a cut above her eye and a swollen lip, blood splattered across her grey sweater. Steve stumbled over his feet as he rushed to the door, pressing one hand against her swollen cheek and taking her elbow with the other.

“What the hell, Nat? What happened?”

She shook her head as Steve guided her to the kitchen counter, rushing to grab a bag of frozen fries from the freezer. “Hold this here,” he said, pressing the bag to her cheek. “Hold up.”

“Where is everyone?” Natasha asked shakily, easing herself into one of the high wooden stools that stood next to the kitchen counter.

“Barton’s at work, Bucky’s out with Pete and Wade.” Steve stepped around the counter with a handful of butterfly stitches from the drawer, a bowl of warm water and a kitchen towel. He dipped the corner of the towel into the water and then reached up to clean away the drying blood from Natasha’s face. “What the hell happened?” he said again.

Natasha blinked slowly, cracking her jaw under the bag of fries. “I was checking out those cops, the ones who jumped you and Bucky, they’re involved with some kids from Queens, a gang.”

“Working with them?”

Natasha nodded. “I followed them.”

“Nat-”

“Got myself into a bit of trouble.” She smiled, almost awkward. “I should have known better.”

Steve crouched to look at the cut above her eye, the skin was split from the outside corner of her eye to above her eyebrow, but it was shallow and clean. “How many were there?” he asked.

“Three,” Natasha said, wincing slightly as Steve pressed the edges of the cut together and started sticking butterfly stitches to her skin. “The cops had left already. The guys they were meeting caught me as I was leaving.” She paused and then muttered to herself, “Stupid.”

“Why were you following them? We’re supposed to be keeping our heads down aren’t we?” Steve asked, standing up straight and dipping his bloodied fingers in the bowl of cooling water.

“We need to know who these guys are,” Natasha said. “They’re gonna find us eventually, and when they do we’re gonna need to know what we’re up against.”

“Can’t we just leave it alone?” Steve asked desperately.

Natasha smiled sadly. “It doesn’t work like that, Steve. It just doesn’t work that way.”

 

Bucky was utterly quiet as Natasha relayed her story to him later that evening, his chest rising and falling slowly with each calming breath he took. Barton stood at her side, his hand carding through the short hair at the back of her head, not wanting to crowd her as she spoke. Peter and Wade sat together on the kitchen counter, silent and still, while Steve stood with his back to the fridge, the low rumble of the cooling element making his skin feel numb.

“Would you recognise these guys?” Bucky asked when Natasha had finished. She nodded. “Would they recognise you?”

“I was wearing a scarf over my face, but it slipped when we were fighting.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how much of a good look they got before I managed to get out of there.”

“Then it’s best to assume they saw you,” Bucky said with a sigh. He tapped his metal fingers against the kitchen counter, the tinny noise reverberating in the silence. “Shit,” he said eventually. “Fuck.”

“Clint and I can sort this,” Natasha said sternly. “There’s no need to get involved.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking up into a small smile. “Where’s the fun in that?”

 

Bucky spent a good portion of the next couple of days trying to persuade Steve that he didn’t have to come along, that he definitely _didn’t_ have to get involved. That it wasn’t his fight, that he’d been dragged in against his will.

“I said I wanted in,” Steve said, shaking his head. “I said I was in, no matter what.”

“It’s not a trip to see the British, Steve. It ain’t gonna be some little drug deal down on the beach. This is, it’s-”

“I get it, Bucky,” Steve had smiled and reached out across the space between them, his white hand against the arm of Bucky’s black jumper. “I understand.”

Wade and Peter were mutinous when they found out they were being left behind; Bucky threatened to cable tie them to the toilet if they didn’t stay put, his metal hand fisted in Wade’s red hoodie. Steve watched silently from the open apartment door, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his stomach churning uncomfortably.

“I’m serious, Wade,” Bucky growled, pushing him away. “If I catch either of you outside of this apartment today you’re both out on your asses, you understand?”

Peter’s face was red and furious, but Steve could tell he didn’t dare say anything; instead he spun around and stalked back to Wade’s bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Bucky leant forward, suddenly gentle as he reached out to grip Wade’s shoulder. “Look after him, alright? Keep him here or it’s gonna end badly.” He pulled Wade into a one-armed hug, squeezing him tight against his chest. “I trust you, ok?”

Wade pushed Bucky away, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, thanks a lot, dad.”

 

They met Sam near Newton Creek as the sun set, a manmade water channel that wove its way into the heart of Brooklyn like the white roots of a weed. They walked together in silence towards Maspeth, the industrial area where Natasha had been attacked, where she would now be standing, seemingly alone, as bait.

“I got you something,” Bucky said as they neared Maspeth, the grey industrial buildings sat low on the horizon like a partially completed city skyline. Bucky reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a set of brass knuckles, holding them out for Steve to take. “Just in case you need a bit of help,” he added.

Steve held out his hand and took the silvery brass knuckles from Bucky with a disbelieving chuckle. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” Bucky said with a smile as Steve slipped the brass knuckles into his own pocket without another word.

The plan was to arrive separately at the place where Natasha had been attacked; Barton would be there already as cover, while Sam, Steve and Bucky would arrive as backup once Natasha was under attack from the men that had caught her before.

Hindsight _was_ a beautiful thing, Steve had thought later that evening as Natasha helped to bathe his bleeding hands.

They were jumped before they even managed to locate Natasha in the maze of industrial buildings, the brick walls of silos and factories like a cage around them. Five guys with hoods pulled low over their eyes stepped out of the darkness as a shot rang out, echoing between the factory walls.

“Split!” Bucky shouted as Sam and Steve scattered, running between the buildings with nothing but their own heaving breaths in the darkness.

Steve heard another gunshot behind him as he skidded around a corner, stumbling to a stop and pressing his back against the corrugated metal of a loading bay door with a rattling clang. He waited a moment until he had managed to catch his breath, then he stepped back into the alley he had just run down, determined to find his way back to Bucky and Sam.

There was another shot, followed by a shout, then another two shots and silence.

Steve edged his way back down the alleyway, pushing his hand into his pocket and absentmindedly curling his fingers into the holes of the brass knuckles Bucky had given him earlier. As he walked he saw the silhouette of a man backing into the alleyway from the other end, a knife or a gun gripped in his shaking hand. Steve flexed his fingers against the metal of the brass knuckles and, before he had a chance to lose his nerve, shouted, “Hey, you fuck!”

The man turned with his fists raised and his teeth bared, a short knife gripped tight in one hand. For a split-second he stood and surveyed Steve, his eyes darting up and down, before he launched himself forwards, swinging the knife up towards Steve’s face. The man stumbled forwards a half-step and Steve brought his arm up, the dull metal of the brass knuckles connecting with the hard bone of the man’s jaw and knocking him backwards. The man staggered back, stunned, and Steve hit him again, bringing the brass knuckles down against his cheek, the man’s pale skin splitting open with a spray of blood. Steve watched as the man stumbled backwards again, looking up with shaking eyes as Steve loomed over him.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” the man shouted, the knife wavering in front of him.

Steve let the brass knuckles slip from his fingers and clatter to the ground as he stepped forward, his voice low and desperate. “Come on then,” he said through gritted teeth. “Come on then!”

The man lunged for him but Steve was ready, hitting him once and then again, slipping his foot behind the man’s heel and pushing him hard in the middle of chest so that he fell back on to his ass, the knife skittering away across the wet concrete.

Steve was on his knees in a moment, holding the man down with the bulk of his body as he swung for him again and again. The man reached up with bloodied hands, gurgling, trying to push at Steve’s face, smearing warm blood across his cheeks and up his neck. Steve hit the man until he was silent, his arms limp at his sides.

Steve’s heart hammered in his chest and his hands shook. He leant back on his heels and took in one great, shuddering breath as a hand closed over his shoulder. He spun around, grabbing at the forearm of the person behind him and pulling them down as he pulled himself up. They staggered against one another and Steve got his hands fisted in the person’s jacket, blood hot and wet under his palms as he pushed them up against the brick wall of the alley.

“Steve,” a breathless voice said from the dark. “Stevie, it’s us.”

As Steve’s eyes adjusted to the darkness he realised that it was Bucky who he was holding hard against the wall, his eyes wide as he looked up at Steve, his hands tentatively pressing against Steve’s sides. Steve turned to see Sam stepping forward, his hands raised, and behind, Natasha and Barton, bruised and bloodied.

“It’s alright, it’s ok,” Bucky said quietly, his hands moving up to Steve’s arms, his fingers closing around Steve’s wrists and pulling them gently away.

“We need to get out of here,” Sam said, glancing down at the unconscious man on the ground. “Come on, Steve, it’s time to go.”

Steve nodded, stepping back and letting his arms drop to his sides. He could feel Bucky watching him as Sam passed between them, but he kept his eyes down, counting out the spots of blood on the ground with each beat of his heart. He could feel heat in every throbbing cell of his body, and his lungs burned. He realised he was half-hard and shook his head, breathing deep to try and dispel the shuddering tension in his head and chest and groin.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky crouch down and pick up the brass knuckles and drop them heavily back into his pocket.

“Come on, Steve,” Sam’s called from the entrance of the alleyway.

Steve nodded, rubbing his palms against his thighs. “Yeah, ok. I’m coming.”

 

They split up as they left Maspeth, walking quietly in opposite directions, spreading out across Queens and Brooklyn and Jersey. They agreed to meet up in three days time at Bucky’s place on New York Avenue. _Let the dust settle_ , Bucky had said.

Bucky walked with Steve to the banks of Newton Creek so that Steve could wash the blood from his face.

“You have somewhere safe to go?” he asked Steve as they neared the water.

“Yeah, I have a friend in Greenpoint I can stay with for a couple of days,” Steve said as he crouched down and started scooping dirty water out of the creek.

Bucky seemed to consider him, standing with his hands in his pockets as he watched Steve splash water in his face. “That’s a good look for you by the way,” Bucky said eventually.

Steve looked up, pink water dripping from his chin. “That’s your thing, huh?” Steve said, trying to laugh as though he were in on the joke. Even in the dark Steve could see the pink tip of Bucky’s tongue, the quirk of his lips as he tried not to smile.

“Yeah sure,” Bucky said, looking away. “I love a bit of rough.”

Steve looked back into the black water, resolutely ignoring the twitch of his cock in his trousers. He dipped his hands back into the cold water, washing the last of the blood away without a word.

“Get yourself to Greenpoint,” Bucky said as he stepped back, away from the edge of the creek. “Stay safe, Steve, I wanna see you in one piece in three days.”

“Ok, Buck,” Steve said shakily. “You got it.”

 

Three days later the five of them sat together in the apartment above the day care centre, Steve and Bucky sat next to each other on the sofa while the others lounged across the armchairs, laughing with Peter and Wade as though nothing had happened. The coffee table was already half full of empty beer bottles when Sam launched into a story about the time Bucky was arrested for stealing books from Barnes and Noble, gesturing to where Wade and Peter were sat cross-legged on the floor.

“Bucky was terrified, seriously,” Sam said, sitting forward in his armchair. “You should have seen him, shaking, sweating-”

“That’s Sam’s version of the truth,” Bucky said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders against the back of the sofa and taking a swig of his beer. “Besides, I got some stories about Sam too-”

“Don’t try and change the subject-”

“Yeah, dude, it’s more fun to hear about you crying alone in a cell down on 6th,” Barton said with a chuckle, leaning his head back against the armchair Natasha was sitting in. “It’s ok to be scared, Buck, and y’know, if a little wee comes out-”

“Clint-” Natasha said, rolling her eyes and nudging the bottom of her beer bottle against the back of Barton’s head.

“Well, that’s nothing to be ashamed of either,” Barton finished with a grin.

Bucky smiled across the circle at Barton, his expression was friendly but Steve could see there a challenge in his eyes. “I ain’t afraid of nothing,” Bucky said, lifting his chin.

“That’s a double negative, so you just confirmed what I’ve been saying all along,” Barton said with a shrug, grinning as Steve started laughing. “I saw you ready to shit yourself just the other day,” he continued. “I’m pretty sure Stevie here saw it too.”

There was a moment of silence as the room gauged the safety of Barton’s comment, a quiet that Steve filled with a nervous huff of a laugh before Bucky slung an arm around Steve’s shoulders, saying, “Steve’s my buddy, I ain’t scared of him.”

Barton shrugged again, goading, “I dunno, man, when he had you pushed up against that wall-”

Wade’s wolf whistle cut him off and the circle started to laugh, five pairs of eyes trained on Bucky and Steve, who felt a hot blush starting to spread up his chest as he tried not to think about what had happened the other night.

Bucky snorted and unhooked his arm from around Steve’s shoulders. Steve looked from Barton to Sam as Bucky reached forward and grabbed Steve’s chin and pulled his face around, fingers digging into his cheek, his thumb against Steve’s jaw. Steve made a tiny noise, a little surprised something in the back of his throat as Bucky leaned in and kissed him, a hot press of open lips against his own, a breathtaking, agonising moment before Bucky was pulling away.

“I told you,” Bucky said as he pressed his hand against Steve’s cheek and pushed his face away, grinning. “I ain’t afraid of nothing.”


	7. Chapter 7

In the morning Steve and Sam walked to a bagel place on 7th Avenue for breakfast. Steve had eighty dollars in one pocket and a scribbled list of orders from the guys in the other; ham no mayo, beef and provolone cheese, salad, salami, egg mayo. _NO OLIVES!!!!!!!!!_

“It’s nice when you stay over,” Steve said genuinely as they walked, the winter sun bright white above them.

“Aw shucks, Stevie.” Sam bumped his shoulder against Steve’s and grinned. “Having my own place is nice, but I miss hanging out all the time.”

“How come you left?” Steve asked.

“The noise, mainly. I’m not cut out to be a dad.” Sam nudged Steve again. “Not like you.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, right, father of the year over here.”

“You and Daddy-Buck.” Sam paused to push the door of the bagel place open, ushering Steve inside. “So do they call one of you ‘Dad’ and one of you ‘Papa’ or do you have another system worked out?”

Steve rolled his eyes as he took his place in the queue behind a workman with his yellow hard hat under his arm. “Yeah sure, and you’re Uncle Sam.”

“That works for me.” Sam stared at the board above the counter for a moment, eyes flicking across the menu as he read. Then he cleared his throat and said, “So, er, so what’s going on with you guys?”

Steve shrugged. “Nothing, Bucky’s a show-off.”

“He’s a flirt.”

“Exactly.”

“You ever seen him kiss anyone else to show-off?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply then shut it. He caught a chunk of the inside of his cheek between his teeth and gnawed on it in lieu of offering an answer.

“I mean,” Sam continued, crossing his arms. “I never seen him do that, I’m just saying.”

“Uh huh.”

“So I just wondered, y’know.”

“Nothing’s going on,” Steve said finally, poking his tongue against the coppery inside of his cheek. “He’s my friend.”

Sam nodded slowly, then turned back to board above the counter. “Ok,” he said, looking back at Steve. “Can I get the blue cheese and caramalised onion?”

Steve sighed, grateful for everything Sam chose to be, then smiled and said, “Sure thing, buddy.”

 

“You up for a little work tonight?” Bucky asked later that day as he paired up socks, an open laundry bag sat on the sofa next to him.

Steve nodded, looking up from where he was perched on the edge of the coffee table. “Sure, what d’you have in mind?”

Bucky continued balling up his socks, nonchalant, as he said, “I wanna go back to Maspeth, quiet like, just the two of us.”

Steve frowned. “Is that not a terrible idea?”

“We have to find out where they’re working, they obviously have a building there, or a meeting place-”

“Yeah, and they’re gonna have eyes everywhere after the other night,” Steve interrupted. “We won’t get anywhere near.”

Bucky balled up the last of his socks and rested his hand on top of the little warm pile as he looked down at Steve. “You reckon a cop car would get near?”

“Bucky, come on now-”

“We take a car from the 78th precinct and we drive it up to Maspeth-”

“Those things have GPS, you know?” Steve shook his head. “That’s reckless, Bucky, that’s real stupid. If you wanna find out more information on these guys you gotta play the long game, let the waters settle. If you go charging in there now, _in a fucking cop car_ , all you’re gonna do is spook them and give them another look at our faces.” Bucky opened his mouth to say something but Steve held up his hand. “I know you’re mad, Buck, I know you’re pissed about this, but going in now isn’t gonna achieve anything.”

“You think I’m overemotional?” Bucky said with a small smile.

Steve scoffed. “A bit.”

Bucky sighed then gathered up his socks and hefted himself off of the sofa. “I didn’t realise you were good at that,” Bucky said as he stepped around the sofa, heading for the bedrooms.

“What?”

“Bossing people around.”

Steve laughed, letting his eyes drop to the small of Bucky’s back as he turned back to make his way to the bedrooms. His eyes flicked down to watch the movement of Bucky’s hips, to the curve of his ass, before he shook his head and looked away.

 _That’s a good look on you_ , Bucky had said. Steve imagined for a moment, the heave of their bodies after the fight, growling in the back of his throat as he pushed Bucky back against a wall in a dark alley. He wondered whether Bucky had been hard too, whether Bucky got off on being pushed around. Steve fidgeted, pressing a hand against his crotch to rearrange his trousers.

“Hey, Steve.” Steve’s head shot up as Bucky walked back into the room. “Wanna get a takeout in that case? Watch a movie?”

Steve nodded. “Definitely.”

Bucky smiled.

 

Bucky fell asleep on the sofa about an hour before the end of _Intersteller_ ; Steve had picked it and Bucky had picked the takeout, which he ate in mouthfuls between endless questions about what was going on.

Steve sat and watched the end with Bucky at his side, who had slumped awkwardly against the back of the sofa with his mouth open, a low rumble of wet air escaping with every breath. Barton got home at ten and made a lot of noise making food in the kitchen, startling Bucky awake.

“Shit,” he mumbled. “I missed the end.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, and I missed the first two hours.”

“You shouldn’t pick such a confusing film if you don’t want me to ask questions,” Bucky said, rubbing at his face with his hands, the cool metal of his prosthetic making his cheek pink. He looked over at the kitchen and blinked. “Peter and Wade get back already?”

Barton shrugged, a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth. “I haven’t seen them all day.”

Bucky blinked again, sleepy and confused. “Ok.” He yawned. “I’m gonna go sleep, that film’s freaked me out.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’ll be alright, Buck.”

“You wanna make sure I get back safe?” Bucky’s voice was noncommittal, throw away, but Barton spluttered into his bowl of pasta in the kitchen. “Make sure there’s no ghosts or anything.”

Steve’s heart beat in his throat but he turned away with a grin. “You can make it, I believe in you.” He looked up at Barton and tried to ignore his smug grin. “Give me a shout if you have any trouble.”

Bucky clapped his metal hand against Steve’s knee, pushing himself up with another yawn and wandered off to his bedroom without a word.

 

Peter and Wade did not come back that night or the morning after. By lunch time Bucky was ready to tear the city apart to find them.

“They got a tail on us somehow, they followed us back here after Maspeth,” he kept saying, fisting his good hand into his hair as he paced back and forth across the apartment.

“It could be anything,” Barton said, his hands in the air in front of him, placating.

“Yeah, they’re always getting into some trouble or other,” Steve offered. “They might be sitting in a cell somewhere for public urination.”

“You think this is funny?” Bucky stopped in his tracks and glared at Steve, his hands balled up at his sides. Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s metal fist.  He had seen Bucky’s quiet fury, the calm of his wrath. But he had also seen the blood-spitting aggression that rumbled beneath the surface, a violent mantel barely contained under the paper-thin lithosphere of the mask Bucky wore.

“No, Bucky, of course not. I’m just sayin’-”

“I don’t need you to say anything right now, do you understand?” Bucky’s jaw clenched as he stared at Steve, muscles working under his skin. He took a step forward but Steve held his ground. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Steve?”

Steve narrowed his eyes, his heart hammering so hard it hurt. He let out a steady breath through his nose and nodded.

Bucky stared at Steve a moment longer and then turned to Barton. “I need you to get Nat and find out who her contact is at the precinct.” He shook his head minutely as Barton made a face. “No arguments, I need to know.”

Barton nodded. His eyes flicked between Steve and Bucky and he nodded again. Steve had the impression that he wanted to say something but he said nothing, just gathered up his jacket and left the apartment, the door banging behind him.

“Bucky-”

Bucky held up his hand, the metal palm glinting in the light between them. “Are you in this, Steve?”

Steve clenched his teeth together until his jaw ached. "Yes," he said quietly.

Bucky’s face was still, almost unreadable, but there was something there that made Steve feel like he was disappointed. His eyes dropped to Steve’s mouth and he spoke without looking up. “I’m gonna ask you to do something stupid with me, and I know that you’ll say yes because you love me.”

Bucky paused but did not look up. Steve felt that he was being given a moment to protest, to say he wasn’t gonna say yes, to say he didn’t want to go, that he didn’t love Bucky, but Steve just let the silence drag and said nothing.

“I love you too, Steve, I want you to know that,” Bucky said finally as he looked up. He reached out and pressed the cold metal of his hand against the side of Steve’s neck, his fingers curling against the knots of Steve’s spine. “Wanna come do something stupid?”

Steve grinned. “Yeah, Buck, let’s go mess ‘em up.”


	8. Chapter 8

Bucky drove them to a small storage unit near the Aqueduct Racetrack, rolling up the rusting shutter with a grunt. He ushered Steve inside and pulled the shutter closed behind them, clicking on the overhead striplight.

“This is where the magic happens, huh?” Steve said, looking around the sparse little room. He pushed his hand into his pocket as he watched Bucky unlock the drawers of a large storage chest that stood against the back wall.

Bucky grinned and pulled the top drawer of the chest open, revealing a neat line of weapons, guns and knives and what appeared to be a couple of cans of mace. Bucky held out his hand and Steve passed him the duffle bag he had carried in from the van, which Bucky started to fill, unceremoniously, with as many weapons as would fit.

Steve found that the storage unit also held multiple changes of clothes, hoodies and t-shirts and gloves and balaclavas, all in black. There was even a pitted bullet-proof vest, which Bucky tossed to Steve with a grin.

“Standard issue from the 88th Precinct,” he said when Steve looked at him questioningly.

“You think we’re gonna be alright with one?”

Bucky snorted. “We can share, one arm-hole each.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

He had been buzzing with a steady flow of adrenaline since lunchtime. Every now and then his heart would flutter with a burst of energy and his hands shook. He kept his eyes on Bucky’s movements to keep himself grounded, his voice steady as he tried to keep his cool. Bucky didn’t let on if he had noticed Steve was a mess, although Steve was sure that he had, there was very little that escaped Bucky’s attention.

They drove back to the apartment in silence, parking the van a few blocks to the south and walking back with their shoulders barely touching. Natasha and Barton were waiting for them when they entered the apartment, faces closed and stern.

“I know what you’re planning, Bucky,” Natasha said in place of a greeting. “It’s ridiculous. You have no idea what Pete and Wade are doing or where they are, they could be anywhere. We need to be out _looking_ for them, not starting a goddamn war.”

Bucky took a breath but said nothing.

“Bucky, please,” Natasha said, taking a step forward. “Let’s just go out, do a proper search, and if we’ve found nothing by this evening then we can regroup back here and decide what we’re going to do.”

“Anything could have happened by then,” Bucky said, dropping the bag of weapons on the wooden floor next to his feet.

“I agree with Nat,” Barton said, his arms folded across his chest. “Sam’s out right now looking for them. If we split up we could cover most of Brooklyn by tonight.”

“Sam’s out?”

Barton nodded. “He refused to come back here with us, went straight out and started searching.”

Bucky sighed, then turned to Steve. “What do you think?”

Steve blinked, taken aback. “Well. I mean.” He looked from Bucky to Natasha and Barton, all of whom were looking at him expectantly. He opened his mouth to speak as the door banged open behind him. Steve spun around to see a staggering mass of limbs struggling through the door; Peter, bloodied and bruised, was being dragged into the apartment by Sam and Wade, who had streaks of dried blood across his face, one eye swollen and purple-black.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky rushed forward, sweeping Peter up in his arms as though he were a child, hurrying towards the sofa to lay him carefully back against the worn leather. He spun around to face Wade, who flinched back against Sam, his hands up by his face. “What the fuck happened, Wade? What the fuck happened?”

“He’s been shot,” Wade said in a rush. “I’m sorry, Bucky, I’m sorry, please-”

Bucky pushed Wade away with a hand against his sternum, shocking him into silence. Natasha hurried forward with a handful of first aid supplies from the kitchen drawer, while Barton leant over the back of the sofa to start cutting Peter’s bloodied trousers away from him. Peter was groaning, pushing Bucky away as he tried to search him for injuries.

“Pete, calm down, it’s ok, you’re home,” Bucky said soothingly, his hands brushing through Peter’s bloody hair and across his cheeks. He leant down and kissed his forehead. “You’re ok, you’re safe.”

Peter shook his head, his eyes clamped shut. “Let me up, let me up.”

“Pete-”

“Let me up!”

Barton leant over and pushed a hand under Peter’s shoulder as Bucky reached for him, the two of them hefting Peter into a sitting position. He wobbled, his eyes unfocussed, and his hands balled into fists in front of him. Bucky caught one of his hands and held it tight as the room fell silent.

“It wasn’t Wade’s fault,” he said quietly. Steve watched his fingers curling tightly around Bucky’s hand and realised they were holding one another up, an equilibrium struck between their two masses, a symbiosis that included every member of that strange little family. “It was me, I wanted to go and he tried to stop me.”

Natasha settled on the arm of the sofa and reached across to touch Peter’s shoulder. “Where did you go?” Peter looked at her, his mouth tense. “Maspeth?” He looked away. “Oh, Peter.”

“It’s ok,” Bucky said. He patted Peter’s bare leg, which was bleeding from a messy wound above his knee. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

 

Steve watched as Bucky cleaned the cut on Peter’s leg, shoulder blades shifting under the black t-shirt he was wearing. Sam and Barton had moved one of the armchairs around so that it faced away towards the kitchen, the artificial light bright against the white skin of Peter’s thigh. Bucky knelt at Peter’s feet, needle and nylon thread in hand as Natasha wiped the wound clean with a bloodied cloth, her free hand stroking through Peter’s short hair. Bucky’s fingers fumbled with the needle for a moment and he smiled up at Peter apologetically. “You ok, buddy?” he asked, waiting for the go ahead from Peter.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, do it.” He grimaced when Bucky started to stitch the split skin together but didn’t make a sound. Barton stepped forward and held out a smoking joint to Peter, who took it with shaking fingers.

Steve watched them as though he was on the other side of the glass, this little family, bumbling along together with every piece it could ever need. And somehow he was meant to fit in too, just because Bucky says he should, because Bucky said he could.

“Steve.” He blinked when he heard his name and looked up to see Natasha holding out the joint towards him. He took it without thinking, knowing his lips and Natasha’s lips and Peter’s lips and Barton’s lips had shared that little round of paper. Their lungs breathing deep together. Tobacco contains some 2,500 chemicals, which become over 4,000 when combusted. Steve pondered this as he drew the smoke into his lungs, holding it longer than necessary before letting it out.

“Steve.” Natasha was looking at him and he looked back to Bucky, licking his lips.

 

Later they sat together in the living room, the chairs pushed awkwardly about so that Peter could sit with his leg elevated, bandage wrapped tight around his white thigh. They shared the rest of the weed from Bucky’s private stash and Clint ordered too much pizza, giving the address wrong over the phone so that Sam had to snatch the phone away and salvage the mission.

Peter recounted his story after Bucky was satisfied that he wasn’t going to bleed out, slumped back in his armchair against a pile of mismatched pillows. Wade sat on the arm of the chair, his arm slung over the cushioned back, his knee bent under Peter’s hand.

They had made their way to Maspeth during the early evening of the night before, determined to find some vital piece of information that the guys hadn’t been able to attain on their doomed mission. According to Peter, Wade had tried to stop him, but Peter was angry, stubborn, and, Steve assumed, determined to prove his worth.

Maspeth had been quiet when they got there, dark and empty. They started breaking into the factories and warehouses one by one, searching them quickly for signs of activity before moving on. They broke into one that had ‘TRADING CORP.’ in wide white letters above the blue shuttered doors and found a cop car inside.

Wade started talking fast, excited by the story even though they were in trouble. “So we go towards this light, there’s a light in one of the offices, and we go towards the light to see what’s up, right?” Peter pats his knee and he takes a breath. “So we go towards it, around the cop car, and the door opens and these guys come out, gang bangers or what, I dunno, guys in jackets anyhow, and there are cops, _two damn cops-_ ”

“They look beat up?” Barton said as he grinned in Bucky’s direction. “They were lucky to get away alive according to Steve.”

Steve nodded sagely and then smiled crookedly. “Bucky annihilated them.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, tipping his head forward. “So, there were these guys?” he prompted, looking back over at Wade and Peter.

So there were these guys, two cops, and they exited the office of the building into the warehouse section with five other men. Peter and Wade decided to hide and wait until the men left, hoping to sneak out without being noticed and sneak back home without being noticed there either. Peter said that they hid for almost ten hours behind a stack of old pallets, huddled together against the cold.

“We figured the coast was clear when the morning came, it’d been quiet for ages,” Peter said.

Wade snorted. “It wasn’t.”

“They had guys on guard-”

“And the guys had guns.”

“-but we got away ok.”

“You were shot in the leg,” Steve said sarcastically.

“I said ‘ok’, I didn’t say ‘great’,” Peter shot back, rolling his eyes.

The car was from the 78th Precinct, just like Natasha’s contact had said. If the trail of dirty cops went further than the two they had encountered there was no way to know, but at least they knew _where_ the gang was based.

“You hear anything else?” Bucky asked when Peter and Wade had finished. “Anything about what business they got going?”

Peter shook his head. “They were talking about the station, about some guys at the station that were suspicious, but they pretty much stopped talking once they left the office.”

Bucky slouched back against the sofa, his arms over his stomach. “Right,” he said, looking over at Barton. “You rolling, buddy?”

Barton laughed. “Sure, sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> I am on [tumblr](https://agent-carnter.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Also, comments are a great kindness (｡◕‿‿◕｡)


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